


A Foreign Encounter

by SerasLex



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Different take to the Main Questline, Dragonborn is an alien or something, F/M, Gen, Lucien Flavius - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Content - Freeform, So she has her own race, Teldryn Serious, inigo the brave - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 13:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17081576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerasLex/pseuds/SerasLex
Summary: A woman wanting to forget her past comes to an unfamiliar world, and becomes more whole there than she ever has been before. Friends, adventures, heartaches and laughs; a new Dragonborn enters the playing field. Question is: Is she a player or another pawn?





	A Foreign Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'd like to thank my friend Victoria (she's not a member here, sadly) for proof reading and giving me her honest opinion about this chapter. You're awesome, Victoria!

I have bid my life before “adieu” and welcomed the crisp evening air as it nipped at my nose and cheeks. Crickets chirped, and rodents rustled in the brush. I could hear the nearby bubbling of the creak, and my life before began to fade.

  
In moments, who I was before did not matter; only what I would make myself into would. The night was serene and almost dream-like for this lone wanderer; I felt isolated, but I did not feel lonely, for I had the night at my side, whom shall return after daylight dies out each sunset, but he could never stay for too long. That was fine by me.  
A breeze picked up long, cascading strands of orange-brown and whipped it around my face. I let them be a moment, before reaching up and binding them in a loose bun. I was a stain of black, blue and orange against the night.

  
I dug my fingers into the padding of my jacket and under the carbon plating until I reached a miraculous little button. Before my very eyes, a menu popped up and I saw the files that I had downloaded a few weeks previous, choosing one, my armor’s padding changed shape and morphed. Within moments the process was complete, and my armor was now looked like a black, leather jacket, pants of the same material and boots that came up to my knees.  
Content with my armor’s new appearance, I set to use my equipment and spare firewood to set up a small camp in the clearing not too far to my right by the way of a flashlight, I pitched a small tent and started a small fire a good distance from it.

  
Turning off my light, I climbed into my bedroll and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.  
The night passed and morning came and went with my camp packed up and I was gone. I wandered along the creek until I came upon a road and a riverside village just beyond it. Perhaps the term “village” was a little too generous of a term for the very small community. It was more like an inn, a general store, a blacksmith, and a sawmill accompanied by a few houses. There wasn’t even a proper farm, just a little garden behind the inn and a cow outside one other house. But they called themselves a village, and who am I to tell them otherwise.

  
I found my way to the inn and tried chatting up the innkeeper, but she was fairly cold and stern. All I could gather from her was a letter from the Jarl about some bounty on a group of bandits, which hardly interested me, and a bit of information regarding how there were more legion patrols around the nearby town of Helgen. At least, more so than usual. I found that last tidbit of information interesting, but moved on quickly, before she or the other patrons could start inquiring about my features or place of origin.  
With some luck, they might figure that I’m the bastard of some Bosmer merchant with some Khajiit ancestry when really I am neither. The name of my people is already lost on me, but that’s fine by me; I wanted to leave them behind for a very long time. They were a cruel people and very vain at that.

  
I left the inn and judging by the position of the sun and grumbling in my belly, it was getting close to noon. I broke fast with some bread and water from my pack, and took out my map of the province and guesstimated where the bandit camp sat at.

  
It took mere moments to find my current position on the map and find where this vagrant infested mine sat. It was just south of the town and down the road.  
Readying my crossbow and sword, I set off in the direction of the mine, determined to clear it out before the day was through.

  
The sun had begun to sink lower in the sky, once I had loaded all of the bandits’ heads into a large burlap sack. The Jarl promised fifty gold for the underlings and one hundred and fifty for their leader if I brought in their heads. They also left a generous amount of gold and even a few gems for me to hide away in my inner pockets.  
I was about to leave when I noticed a dead man in their cage. It seemed like a shame to leave the cage locked. It was symbolic, an empty gesture really, but I believed that it would help the man find his peace in the afterlife. I unlocked the cage with a key and swung the door open. Then I paused for a long moment, before going through his pockets to try and find anything that could tell me who he was. The next of kin should at least be notified about his passing.

  
It didn’t take me long before I found his journal. According to his journal he was an old hunter with no family or friends left alive to mourn him, and he wound up in this cage because he wanted to investigate what happened to a young woman from Helgen, who had been attacked on the road, but she claimed she was otherwise unharmed. This hunter was not so lucky. After snooping a little more, I found bill of purchase for his cabin and the small bit of land it sat upon with a little note.

_“To whoever this may concern,_

_Should I be found dead, he or she whom has found my body may claim ownership of my home, so long as they give my body a proper burial behind my house and inform the Jarl. If you would do this for an old, dead man, and help me find peace, then you are more than worthy in my home as long as you’ll have it._

_Signed,_

_Arbjold Erikson”_

 

"Well, blast. You make a hard bargain Mr. Erikson. Very well. Your wish is my command." I spoke to the empty air, mostly, but that did not matter. The wrinkles on his face tell me that he probably had a great sense of humor in life. Not that I have had such a wide range of experience with smile lines, not personally. The only people that had that where I was before were politicians or the filthy rich. Even then it was rare to see a true smile grace their features. In photographs from several centuries ago, from an age of happiness dead and gone, most people had them.

 

His offer intrigued me, for I felt sympathy for him, and living could become significantly less expensive if his will is honored. It was a last wish and a generous offer for a stranger, even though I never knew him, I figured that this man deserved more than rotting down here with these bandits, so I loaded him into a wheelbarrow as gently and respectfully as possible. Although he was already dead, I felt like I should try to not stir up his spirit by disturbing his rest too much.

  
After leaving through the back entrance of the mine, I quickly came upon his cabin in the dying light and found another one of this man’s journals on the outside journal on the front porch. There was nothing too interesting to me in there, but it did confirm that this was his place of residence; though I knocked on the door, just in case that this was the wrong place and this was another man’s cabin.

  
When no one answered, I used the key I lifted off of the man’s body to unlock the door, I peeped inside and almost immediately found the tools I needed.

  
By the time that the two moons were high in the sky, I had dug a significant grave for the hunter and I was filthy and exhausted. I carefully lowered him in then set to covering him with soil and large stones until the pile rose a foot above the forest floor around him and marked the head of the mound with a wooden cross and nailed a red and brown amulet to the grave. According to his journal, he had begun praying to the God that the amulet was dedicated to in his twilight years: Arkay, the God of life and death. It must have been around two in the morning by the time that task was finished.

  
Religion had been banned where I was from, I remembered vaguely. The idea of praising a God that wasn’t science or politics seemed foreign – alien if you will – to me, but not revolting or beneath me. Maybe I would find faith in such figures, one day; even if they specifically did not create me, I had come to exist within their world, though this was a matter for another time.

  
I stood before his grave for a moment, in silence. I felt a presence that made me feel welcome on the property, then the presence was gone, and I was alone once more with the loud, chilly and ever-present night.

**Author's Note:**

> The sun must set on an old day to start a new, and so must my old life, lest I wish to be stuck in a land of midnight-sun.


End file.
